Defrosting Freezers

Eight thousand and four hundred days ago I found myself standing in a parking lot, chipping the ice out of a freezer, watching men I knew well step out of a church’s office and head off to lunch.  I was the handyman for that church, they were newly minted pastors.  I had taken the job because I was unemployed and I need to make some money so my family could celebrate Christmas. They were well on their way to fulfill their calling.

I had sensed a similar call on my life.  In fact, it was the only reason I even went to college.  For most of my young life, I had prepared to become an auto mechanic, hence my capacity to step into the role of handyman.  It was humbling to stand there defrosting that refrigerator while men who I had gone to college with were commencing their careers in ministry. While they were beginning an exciting season of growth, I felt stuck and forgotten. 

In frustration, I remember crying out to God and asking, “How long o Lord, will you leave me in this place.”  As clearly as I have ever heard Him, I heard God say, “If I want you to be a handyman for the rest of your life, you need to do it to honor and glorify me.”  It wasn’t the response I was longing to hear, but I heard it loud and clear.

With tears streaming down my face, and ice and water pooling at my feet, I could do nothing else but surrender. I told God I was willing to be a handyman for the rest of my life, if that is what He had for me.  As it turned out it wasn’t, but that is another story for another time.

Today, I found myself doing some contract work at a friend’s company.  It is relocating and they need some extra hands to help in moving and installing computers and servers.  I took the job because, things being what they are, I needed to make some money so my family could celebrate Christmas. 

While we were in the process of packing everything up, my friend noticed his mini refrigerator, which had been unplugged earlier in the day, was leaking water.   He asked me if I could do something about it.  It had already been wrapped in cellophane for the move.  We freed the refrigerator from its cocoon and I opened the door. What I found was a layer of ice covering the bottom of the freezer compartment.  It was melting, causing the leak, but it was still frozen solid enough for the ice to have a firm grip on bottom of the freezer.

I spent the next few minutes, kneeling in my friends office, using a pair of scissors to chip away the ice, hoping to clear it all before the mess got even worse.  I was so focused on what I was doing that I did not realize the déjà vu I had been drawn into. It escaped me until my friend made a comment something to the effect of, “I hope this doesn’t take you back to a bad place.”  When he said it, I knew exactly what he was referring to, and for a moment my mind and heart went back to that morning in the parking lot 8,400 days ago.

It was a bit surreal to recognize how similar the circumstances were that brought me to this moment and that I was engaged in the exact same task as I was then.  But that was quickly washed away by the reality that though the need and the joy were the same, my heart is totally different than it was back then. 

I was not kneeling there, crying out to God, “How long o Lord?”  I was not worried about God’s plans for my life, or what it would mean if I spent the rest of my life chipping out ice boxes and moving computers.  I was not jealous of the fact my friends company is expanding and he is moving into a bigger office, in a nicer location and in a day or two I will have completed the work he has for me.  Rather than feeling anxious, what I was feeling was just the opposite. I felt content.

I felt content because in this season, where I have found myself having to learn to trust God in new ways, I am discovering more fully that He is indeed trustworthy. 

Rather than crying out for God to orchestrate the circumstance of my life to make me feel secure, I am learning what it means to find the fullness of my security in Him. 

Instead of worrying about what my life will amount to, my heart has grown to embrace the prayer which affirms that “God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another.  I have my mission—I never may know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next.”  My heart is content with being willing to wait to discover what He is doing.

Mostly, I felt content because my identity is in no way connected to the fact I find myself defrosting a freezer, moving computers, pastoring people, mentoring leaders, preaching sermons, providing direction, or any number of other things which fill my days.  If I have learned anything in those 8,400 days, especially in the last 1,000 or so, it is that my identity is centered on Christ.  It is what he says about me, not what I do, which defines me.  I could have told you this truth all those days ago. I knew it my mind, but now I know it in my deep, and that makes all the difference in the world. 

There is a freedom that is born in this deep knowing.  It is a freedom which allows one to stand and preach a sermon or kneel and chip ice, and find Christ is present in both.  It is a freedom born in the knowledge you are fully loved and can never be thrown away. It is a freedom that produces a boldness which allows you to move into any situation or circumstance knowing in that moment, it and you are necessary for God’s purposes. 

It is the freedom which allowed me to hear my friend’s comment and ponder it for a moment, and then realize how far my heart has come. I was able to see how unattached my heart has become to what I find myself doing, and how more fully attached it has become to the one I follow and trust.  My heart has learned to be expectant in each moment, realizing God knows what He is about. I will trust Him. All of this is freedom, but it is also peace, and joy, and contentment.  It is good.

Working for my friend was definitely a gift, not because of the fact it will provide the ability to celebrate Christmas, but because it allowed me to see, in a very tangible way, the traces of the sacred work God has been doing in transforming my heart. This was an unexpected gift. 

Holding on to Hope

The other night I found myself standing on the porch of a friend’s house, huddled with others in prayer.  Some of us had come because we want to serve and support in any way we can, others stood there because they were brave enough to let us know they needed help.  We prayed, we hoped, and we held one another.  The Amen was still hanging in the air when someone declared, “I hate cancer.”  In this, we were all one.

On the way over to this impromptu prayer meeting, my wife told me of a tragedy which had just taken place.  A woman who she mentors had texted Tammie to let her know that the woman’s dear friend had chosen to take her life.  Apparently, her friend had been taken over by despair. The woman was just coming to grips with what had happened, and the shock of the loss. My wife simply tried to hold her as she grieved.

This news came to my wife on a night when she had just sat with children whose parents had died in the past year. They were making memory candles to help them remember their parent as they move through the holidays.  As they created they also shared. It was heart wrenching to hear the children talk about how their parents had died, and to see the effect their death and absence is having on these dear ones. 

Earlier in the afternoon I found out that the mother of my second cousin, who was murdered this past July, appeared to have been kidnapped as she got out of her car at work that morning. At the time the police were still searching for her and for a suspect.  Thankfully, two days later they found her, unharmed.  She is now hidden away in a secret place until it all gets sorted out. 

These events are added to a growing list of people we know who are struggling with MS, ALS, and other chronic diseases I do not even have initials for.  Some I have watched for years walk with great dignity as they deal with the reality of their affliction.  Others are still in the early stages; learning what affects their aliment will have on their bodies’ long term.  It is a lot to process for them and their loved ones.   It is a lot to hold.

Addiction has also raised its ugly head; with more than a few families we know and love, being affected by someone who has fallen into its grips.  Addiction causes great emotional, relational, and physical destruction. The effects ripple through families and communities. It mares the soul, and is a difficult demon to exercise.  Not a week goes by that I do not sit with someone who is walking this path.

Add to all of this, the unspeakable violence which took place in Paris on Friday (at the time of this writing there are 127 dead, 300 hospitalized and 80 of them are in critical condition) and it all starts to feel like too much. To focus on any one of these events could be discouraging. To try and keep them all in view can be downright depressing. 

Do you ever feel like this, or is it only me?

Driving home from our friend’s house the other night I found myself asking, “How do you hold all of this and still hold on to hope.”  Maybe, it is a question you have come to at some point in your life.  Maybe, like me, it is one you are asking now.

What helps me hold on to hope is remembering the current circumstance, no matter how big it feels, is only a small part of a much bigger story.  When I focus only on the brokenness of the small part before me, I can feel despair, but when I widen my view, when I remember there is a much bigger story being written, I can  find hope in knowing the present circumstance is not the final word. It may be painful and difficult.  It may be filled with destruction, loss and death.  It may stun me and knock me down, but it does not determine how the bigger story will end. Knowing this, allows me to cling to hope despite the present circumstance.

What will determine the end is the fact is there is One who is good, loving, and trustworthy.   I am confident, even when what is taking place is not good, that He is at work for good.  He has the capacity to redeem all things, even those things which seem the most evil and destructive and hopeless.  Knowing this helps me to move from simply taking my focus off the present circumstances and widening my view, to being able to recognize His presence and work, even in the most difficult of circumstances. Seeing this reminds me we are not alone, even when it may feel like it. And knowing He is present gives me hope.

This kind of vision also opens me to see the person or people who are bearing the weight of the current circumstance differently.  I am able to see that their story is not limited by what is taking place.  They are not defined by it, nor are they trapped by it.  In fact, I am often able to see that just the opposite is true. Their present affliction, which seems to part of a diabolical plan to destroy, actually becomes the birth place of freedom and life. It is indeed possible for their troubles to not overwhelm them. In fact, it is possible for their affiliation to seemingly become light and momentary, and achieve for them an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  It is possible, even in the face of very difficult circumstance, to live in light of the bigger story.  When I witness people doing this, it inspires me and hope grows within me.

All of this opens me to the reality that love wins.  Not some general, nebulous force, which we call love, but the One who is love.  It is He who wins, it He who triumphs over sin and death, it is He who rescues and restores all things.  That is how the story will end. It will end with Him leading a train of people who have not been overwhelmed or destroyed by the smaller story, but who have been given life and freedom, and who have been made whole.  That will be some parade to watch and cheer. The thought of it washed my mind with hope.

Keeping these realities in view does not erase the hurt, loss and pain I am capable of feeling as I am confronted with the harsh reality of present circumstances, but it does allow me to hope.  And hope is a wonderful thing.  Hope strengthens and enables me to persevere.  It protects my heart from despair and opens me to unfailing love. It enables me to wait and trust, and it invites me to walk in light of the reality of the bigger story which contains not only hope, but a future.

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. - Romans 12:12

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. – Jeremiah 29:11

Tapping on the Wall

Not everyone who builds walls is a carpenter or a mason.  In fact, some of the strongest walls are built by those who have been wounded, hurt or have felt rejected.  The experience of it caused them, consciously or subconsciously, to begin erecting an invisible barrier between them and the rest of the world.  Brick by brick they construct this bulwark which they will rely upon to keep harm at a distance.

Maybe you know someone who has surrounded themselves with such a fortification.  If so, you also know that this defense, which has been designed to keep them safe, often becomes their own self imposed prison, cutting them off from the experience of being known and loved.  Though these are some of the deepest longings of the heart, the risk of pain is simply too great to consider deconstructing the walls they have built. The results of leaving these ramparts in place are feelings of isolation and loneliness, which are also tremendously painful.  This may lead them to build higher, stronger walls with which to protect them, trapping themselves inside.

If you know and love someone who has creates such edifices in their lives, chances are you have tried to tear their walls down.  More than likely you have discovered, the only one who has the capacity to deconstruct these kinds of barricades is the one who built them.  What do you do?

A few weeks ago I was pondering this question with some colleagues and an image came to mind which reminded me of a story.  The image was of a wall at the Hanoi Hilton.  Its official title was the Hỏa Lò Prison.  It housed prisoners of war held by the North Vietnamese.  There they tortured and interrogated captured servicemen, mostly American pilots shot down during bombing raids.  The goal was to break the will of the men so they could get them to sign statements which could use for propaganda purposes.  These were terrible walls to be trapped behind.

The physical torture could be madding.  So could the isolation.  They were imprisoned in a small room, maybe 6’ by 7’, with no windows. They scarcely saw the sun.  All this was intentional. As author John Borling, who was a prisoner of war in Hanoi, shares in his book, Taps on the Walls, “The enemy wanted them weak, despondent and totally cut off.”

To combat the isolation he men bean to devise ways of communicating with one another.  They would carve messages on the latrine walls, they would scratch words on objects they would leave behind for one another, and they developed a code which would allow them to tap messages to one another through the walls.  This tapping allowed them to maintain the chain of command, pass on information, encourage one another and pray for each other.  Maybe most importantly, it broke through the isolation and let the men know they were not alone.  The tapping shined light in a very dark place, and smuggled hope behind walls where it seemed impossible to find.  It was a lifeline which allowed them to endure until the walls finally fell in March of 1973 and they were released.

Thinking about these images and the story behind them, I could not help but wonder if the best thing we can offer to those we love who are trapped behind walls which were erected to protect, but which now isolate, is the kindness of tapping.  We may not be able to demolish the wall, but we can stand on the other side and faithfully tap messages of hope which allowed them to know they are not alone.  Messages which may enable the courage necessary to tear down their walls to well up inside of them.

There is great power, and healing in knowing someone is there, refusing to allow a stone barrier to separate them from you.  I have to imagine when a new prisoner first heard the tapping they were not sure what to make of it. They knew someone was there and they were trying to communicate, but they could not decipher the code.  Eventually, the random raps on the wall would begin to make sense and they would begin to decode words.  These words would turn into sentences, thoughts, encouragement, and hope.  How grateful they must have been that the person on the other side of the wall kept tapping long enough for them to come to that place.

I have to imagine the same is true for those who are trapped behind the invisible walls which cut them off from the capacity to be known and loved.  They may not understand the tapping when it is first heard, but given time they will begin to decode it.  They will recognize it as an invitation to hope, trust, and to take the risk of tearing down the walls which separate them from others.  When they decipher this, they will also discover hope.

Toward that end, I say, keep tapping.

The Beauty of Simplicity

As we entered her home, my friend stopped to pick a couple of blossoms off the potted tree which adorned the front porch.  I thought nothing of it.  She then went to her kitchen and returned with a bowl filled with water.  The white flowers were at resting on the surface of the transparent liquid.  The exterior of the vessel matched the alabaster purity of the flowers.  The interior of the bowl was a vibrant green, which spoke of life.  She placed the bowl on a cabinet, its dark wood top providing the perfect field to display the simplistic beauty of this spontaneous art piece.

“Beautiful,” I said.  She then told me she had painted the bowl at Color Me Mine, a business where you can add your own artistic flair to a piece of pottery and then they fire it for you.  I have never been there myself, but I have seen more than one example of the pottery created there.  Each possessed a wonderful uniqueness, because it was born from the creative imagination of the one who painted it.  Most pieces have been very colorful and possessed some wonderful design or pattern which set it apart.  Her bowl did not seem to fit the mold of the other works I have seen come out of the establishment.

I made a comment about the fact her bowl did not fit my expectation of what would be created from a day spent at Color Me Mine.  She acknowledged I was probably right, and then explained why.  What she shared made the bowl even more beautiful to me.

She told me the bowl was created on a day with her husband, niece and mother. They decided to spend some special time together doing something fun.  Painting pottery seems like the perfect outing.  She told me about the intercity of the design her husband had painted on the martini glass he picked out.  I got the impression her niece and her mother had added similar artistic flairs to the objects they had chosen to paint.  My friend, on the other hand, purposely chose to add only one color to the inside of her dish.

Now if you knew my friend, you would know she is one of the most artistically gifted people you will ever meet.  Her choice was not made because she was afraid she could not pull off an intricate design, or because she had no vision for what the bowl could be.  She explained to me she had chosen to use only one color of paint, and to paint only one surface of the bowl so she would not have to focus her attention on the piece she was working on.  Instead, she would spend her time focusing on the people she was with. 

She explained she had pained twelve coats of the glaze on the interior of that bowl.  This was work which did not require much concentration, but allowed her to activity participate in the process her companions were engaged in.  The simplicity of it gave her the capacity to be fully present with those she was with.

I wonder if her fellow artists recognized how simple her design was.  I could just hear one of them asking, “Aren’t you going to do something more creative with your bowl?”  I wonder if they also noticed how the simplicity of her project allowed her to focus her attention on them. 

I can just imagine her encouraging them as they went about the creative process.  I can see the smile come across their faces when they experienced being seen by her as she engaged them in conversation, not only about the project in front of them, but about their lives outside of that studio.

While they painted their masterpieces, she created the space necessary to be mindful of those around her.  It was a gift filled with loving-kindness, grace and beauty.

I wish I could say this is the posture I would have taken if I found myself at the same table.  I am pretty sure I would have been more focused on what I was going to paint and how it was going to look.  The perfectionist in me would have wanted to center my attention on the unglazed pottery in front of me, rather than the people who were sitting next to me.  I am afraid I would have made it more of a competition than an opportunity to be present with others.

Looking at her piece of art, understanding why she made the choices she did, I am quite confident nothing I could make would be as striking as the simplistic beauty of her bowl.  I was thankful for the creative decisions she made, the clarity of the water, the flowers which floated on its surface, but most of all for the moment I found myself in and what it was teaching me. 

We may not find ourselves painting glaze on pottery this week, but we will enter into moments where we can choose to simplicity, in order to create the space which will allow us to be present with people.  Doing so may mean we refrain from using the full extent of our giftedness or capacities.  It may also keep from showing others how much we can accomplish or how talented we are.  We might find ourselves laying aside our competitive, perfectionist selves and in order to simply be with others.

Would you be open to that? Could you choose simplicity in order to create the space which would allow someone else to be seen and heard?  Could you find the beauty in choosing to paint with only one color of glaze in order to express a higher form of art, that of making people feel known, and loved?

I hope you can.  After taking in the beauty of my friends bowl, I am convinced this kind of artistry creates a beauty which cannot be matched.

Dried Flowers and Distant Memories

Today, I had the pleasure of a long, leisurely conversation with a dear friend who always makes me look at the world from a slightly different perspective and who always encourages me to open my eyes to the simple beauty which surrounds me.  We were talking about creating space in our lives to be able to live in such moments, and the clutter which often robs us of such a vista.  It seemed to us, we often willing, even lovingly, cling to this clutter as a way of remembering such moments in our past and in the process rob ourselves of the capacity to see in the present.  As my friend was sharing her thoughts an image came to my mind of a book and a dried flower.

Actually, it was more of a memory than an image.  A friend had given me the collected works of John Steinbeck as a groomsman’s gift years ago.  He wrote a nice inscription in the front cover and the book is something which was displayed on our bookshelf for many years.  Several years ago, I took the book off the shelf to dust it and found in its back pages a pressed, dried flower.  It had long since lost its scent and its soft velvet petals had been transformed into a stiff, brittle mass which crumbled each time it was touched or moved.

When I discovered the dried flower I was not surprised.  I remember placing it between the pages of the volume soon after our own wedding.  It was a flower from Tammie’s bouquet.  Over the years when I would stumble upon the dried flower I would remember where it came from and what it represented.  Sometimes I might even call out to Tammie, “Look, the flower from your wedding bouquet.” I would always place it back between the pages and put it back upon the shelf. 

The last time I stumbled across this memento I took a brief moment to look at it for what it had become, not for the memory it held.  It was a dead, dry flower which was falling apart.  While it was a placeholder for a memory, it in no way adequately represented the beauty of my bride, or the flowers that she held, as she walked down the aisle towards me on our wedding day.  When I close my eyes, I can clearly see her radiant beauty.  The years have not erased the moment from my memory, but they were not so kind to the flower.  They turned it into a poor depiction of a beautiful moment. Because of this, I threw the flower out.

Before you crucify me as an unsentimental clod, remember there is no one who enjoys drinking in a moment more than I do.  I savor beauty and often pause to let it soak into my soul. I treasure the sacred spaces where hearts are open, awareness gives birth to discovery, laughter binds together and the capacity to simply be present to one another is cultivated. I treasure the tapestry which is woven when lives intersect over time and find myself both humbled and grateful at having so many which have been interwoven through years and years of relationship.

And yet, I do not want to hold any of these moments, or the clutter which I have accumulated over time to remember them, so tight that they prevent me from creating the simplicity of space necessary to discover the beauty of the present moment.

When I was younger, I did not recognize how one competed with the other, and so I pressed flowers into books. Now, I see it.  I have come to understand I have a finite ability to hold things.  There is only so much I can cling to before my capacity is filled. I see how the things I hold on to take up more than just space in my house. The recognition of these things is an invitation to learn to let go.

Looking down at that dried flower I realized it had let go long ago, even though I had done all I could do to hold on to it.  Throwing it away was simply a way of acknowledging this truth.

I shared this image with my friend and we let it soak in.

A little later in the morning we moved our conversation into my friend’s office and she drew my attention to a vase of flowers which had been on her desk and which were now near a sink.  As recently as the day before they were vibrant and beautiful, but overnight they had wilted.  They were now ready to be discarded and replaced.  She said, “Some things simply cannot be held onto.” 

She is right.  And yet, we often spend so much energy trying to hold on to that which has already withered.  This is true with more in life than just flowers. 

While something is blooming I say, recognize its beauty.  Be inspired by it.  It is right to take notice, to enjoy the space it fills.  Learn the discipline of savoring it.  Let the sweetness of its scent fill your nostrils.  Rub your finger tips to across its soft petals.  Place it where it can be illumined by the morning light which streams through the window. Allow your eyes to drink in its beauty often, for as long as it last, but do not cling to it too tightly.

Be willing to let it go, for chances are the space which is created when you do will allow you to see the beauty of that which is readying itself to bloom.  

When the Waiting is Over

Three years ago this month my wife stepped out of a job that was really a calling.  While she still loved what she did, loved the people she worked with, and loved the children she served, she knew it was it was time for her to transition out. 

Naturally, she began to think about what she would do next.  When she started to explore her options what she heard from God was, “Wait, I have got this.”  She waited.

This was not too difficult in the beginning, but as the weeks turned into months and months turned into years it became harder.

My wife did feel the freedom to volunteer during this season and began serving people through an organization that works with those who are in need of companionship and care.  What she was asked to do ran the gamut from helping someone run errands and taking them out to lunch to bathing those who could no longer bathe themselves.  Sometimes what she was asked to do was outside of her comfort zone, but she did it anyway, seeing it as an opportunity to love.

Her willingness to engage with people in whatever need they had gave her the opportunity to be with them and their families in some of the most impactful moments of life.  She had the privilege of helping families walk through the transitions which come as age and disease take their course, encouraging those in families who found themselves in the position of caregiver, and being there as loved ones slipped into eternity.  While what she was asked to do was not always comfortable, these moments made her service sacred.

Still, she wondered when she would be released from the waiting.  There would be times where she would start looking for a job, career or calling and what she would hear as she sat at the computer searching was God whispering, “I told you to wait.  Trust me.”

At one point she had a large regional church in Southern California want her to be their Children’s Director.  It was not only a position she knew and loved, it would be working for a well known church she respected and with whom she shared a common philosophy of ministry.  It seemed like a perfect fit, but what she heard God say was, “This is not it, wait.” 

When she called and told the person with who had contacted her at the church what God had told her about taking the position, they affirmed her decision, saying, "Your willingness to listen to God is one of the reasons we saw you as a good fit."  I think my wife must have wondered what God was up to, since letting go of this opportunity was akin to letting your dream job slip through your fingers. Yet she had heard Him clearly, so she waited.

Two weeks ago, my wife and I were talking and our conversation led her to look something up on the internet.  As she did, a job posting came up for the organization where she has been volunteering.  I told her she should apply.  I could see she was excited about the possibility, but not wanting to get ahead of God, she asked Him.  She felt the freedom to proceed.

It took only two days before the organization contacted her and asked her to come in for an interview.  When they met the director asked her how she had heard about the position.  Tammie explained she had seen it on the internet.  This puzzled her interviewer because, to their knowledge, no one had posted the job on the site.  She thought it was odd that Tammie found it there, but was happy she did.

One of the things which can be hard about having served as a Children’s Director for 17 years is much of what you did is not completely understood outside of the church.  In the interview, when Tammie went to explain her former job the woman interviewing her stopped her and said, “I know what you did. Your church had a reputation in the community for a very strong Children’s program.”  The comment both affirmed how Tammie had invested her life in the previous season, and it gave hope that this organization could see how the experience could translate into the job which was being discussed.

As they talked the director discoverer Tammie had volunteered in each of the five areas of services the organizations provides.  She was also surprised to find out Tammie had represented them at volunteer fair and had designed the flyer they had recently sent out for printing.  Tammie had done all of these things as simple acts of service in a time of waiting never thinking about how they might be preparing her for what was to come.

She walked out of the interview feeling it went well, but wanting to hold it all loosely.  When you have invested three years in a willingness to wait on God, you do not want to throw it all away simply because there is an opportunity at an organization you believe in and for which you can see yourself working. 

Tammie went home and prayed.  For the first time in three years she did not hear her Heavenly Father tell her to wait.  She began to hope.  Could this be what he had been doing and preparing all along? 

References were checked and a phone call was eventually made offering Tammie the position.  They told her they knew when she walked out of the office, she was the right fit.  Having waited for three years for this moment, Tammie accepted the offer and is now stepping into a position which seems perfect for her gifts, skill sets and passions.  It is a position which God has seemingly been preparing her for in this season of wait.

Looking back now, it seems so clear what God was doing.  All the pieces fit. During that time, however, there was no such clarity.  There was only the call to wait and the choice to trust. 

I am excited for my wife and her new job.  I know because of her unique blend of strategic thinking, gift of administration, creativity and ability to lead people one day someone will say of her work at this organization, “I know what you do; your organization has a strong reputation for compassionate support and care of people.”

But that is not what I am most excited about.  I am most excited to be married to a woman who is willing to wait, even with things were not as clear as they are now and when it cost her, what seemed like, the perfect job.  I am excited through her waiting we as a family experienced once again, at a deeper level, the reality God is indeed trustworthy and can be taken at His word. 

There is always a great temptation to make something happen, to get out ahead of God.  Giving into this temptation never leads to God's best. What we need to develop instead is the capacity to listen for His voice and follow where it leads, even if it is into a time of waiting. 

Waiting gives us an experiential knowledge of God's presence, provision, activity, kindness and love. My wife would tell you this make it worth the wait.

Waiting also develops and grows something in us.  As Tammie said to me, “I will always be different; my relationship with God will always be different, for having walked through this season.” It is the kind of different which builds a foundation which allows you to trust God even greater still. It is the kind of different which leads you places far better than anything you could make happen.  It is the kind of different which is born out of trust and hope and imparts strength and life. Waiting transforms us and allows us to see first hand the traces of the sacred.

Wait for the Lord:

be strong and take heart

and wait for the Lord. - Psalm 27:14

Those who wait for the Lord

Will gain new strength;

They will mount up with wings like eagles,

They will run and not get tired,

They will walk and not become weary. – Isaiah 40:31

Sell All Your Possessions and Ride a Skateboard

Several years ago, while visiting friends, their son excitedly showed me his quarter pipe skateboard ramp and grinding rail.   It was exciting to watch him as he flipped his skateboard on the rail and slid down the length of the steel, and as he dropped down off the lip of the quarter pipe and raced down the driveway. 

It seemed like a lot of fun and I had the idea it might be worth a try.  Now, I knew there was no way I could flip that board up onto that rail, but I thought there was a chance I would be able drop into quarter pipe.  My mistake was I spoke this idea out loud and the boy began to encourage me to try. When I hesitated, he proceeded to egg me on.  I think he may have even used the word “Chicken”.  What was I to do?

I watched him take a few more turns dropping into the pipe, asking questions each time about what he was doing and how it should feel to drop off the edge.  He was more than helpful.  I think he was now feeling some responsibility for my decision and wanted to do everything he could to insure my success.  After all, nobody wants to be the guy who talked someone into cracking their head open on your parent’s driveway.

After a few minutes I realized it was now or never, so I took the board, set it on the edge just like he told me to, and hung there, one foot firmly on the tail of the board which was resting on the top of the pipe and the other lightly touching the front of the board.  The young man continued to give me instructions on how to drop in.  Like a pro athlete who visualized the shot before he takes it, I allowed the image of me dropping in and rolling down the driveway play over and over in my mind. 

 Finally I committed, well sort of. The board began to move and I went with it, but I did not fully commit.  My friend’s son had told me over and over you had to put your weight on your front foot when you went.  What I found is your body wants to do just the opposite.  It wants to stay firmly planted on the back foot because it feels secure.  To transfer your weight to the front foot seems unnatural and risky, but I discovered the hard way, it is also the safest thing to do.

I dropped in, my weight still planted on my back foot.  Rather than feeling the thrill of riding the skateboard down the ramp, I felt the board squirt out from under me, throwing my feet up into the air and by upper body down onto the concrete.  Thankful, I did not crack my head open, but I did hurt my wrist.  At the time I jumped up and acted as if I was fine.  It then proceeded to get in my car and drive away as quick as possible.  My pride could not let him know I had done more than just embarrass myself.  It took weeks before my wrist healed and felt right.

This painful lesson taught me when it comes to dropping into a quarter pipe, you have to fully commit.

In the Scriptures there is a story about a man who meets Jesus.  He does not want to learn to skateboard, but he does ask Jesus to teach him something.  He asks Jesus, “What good deed must I do to have eternal life?”  Jesus replied by saying, “If you want to enter life, keep the commandments.”  The man asked Jesus which one and Jesus shared several.  What Jesus said must have made the man feel good, because he reported to Jesus, “All these I have kept.”  And yet, he seemed to know in his own heart that it was not enough for he also said, “What do I still lack.”

Jesus responded by telling him to put all his weight on his front foot when he dropped in.  With love in His heart for the man Jesus said, “If you want to be perfect, (if you want to know the joy and thrill of riding down the face of the ramp and speeding down the driveway), sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”

What Jesus was asking must have felt unnatural and risky, but Jesus was not extending an invitation which would lead to this man’s peril.  He was inviting him to life.  He was calling him to make the safest move.

There the man stood in front of Jesus, one foot hanging on the edge of the board and the other planted firmly on the security of the ramp.  I wonder what visualizations were going through his mind?  Was he thinking about how abundant life would be if he put all his weight on his front foot, or was he thinking about how perilous it would be for him to let go of the security of his wealth.  I think it must have been both.  We do not know for sure, but we do know latter image won out. 

The Scriptures do not tell us what happens to the young ruler after his encounter with Jesus.  We know enough to understand in his moment of hesitation the invitation shot out from underneath him and he was upended. Something was injured in his unwillingness to leave the security he had known, in order to take hold of the life he was being offered. We are told he was saddened by the choice he felt he had to take.  Sadness is born out of loss.  He knew he had lost something significant in his decision and went away grieving.  

This man’s story of loss teaches us, in order to take hold of the freedom and fullness of the life offered by Jesus, you have to fully commit.

I do not know when your moment will come, but I know there will be a time when you find yourself with one foot securely planted on what feels solid and secure and the other dangling on the end of a board. In this place, you will be confronted with the choice of keeping your weight on your back foot, where it feels secure, or shifting it to your front, trusting that the move will actually be safer than holding back or hesitating. 

Maybe you are poised on the lip of the pipe right now, trying to visualize what it will be like to actually make the move.  The only choice which leads to life is to shift your weight.  Do it now. Do it without hesitation. Let go of what you are holding onto for security and fall into safety.  Choosing not to, or being tentative, will do nothing but upend and injure you.  

Take the risk, drop in even if it feels unnatural and you will know the thrill of riding down the face of a pipe and racing the down the driveway in freedom.

Of Whales and Waiting

This past week we were blessed by some friends with a three night stay at a resort in Avila Beach.  On the first morning, I went down to a patio which overlooks the Pacific Ocean.  I took a book, some coffee and settled in to read, pray and sit in the silence.  It seemed like the perfect way to begin our stay.

Not long after I got comfortable, and before I had turned too many pages of my book, I heard the unmistakable sound of a whale breaking the surface of the water and clearing her blow hole.  I looked up from my book quick enough to watch the humped back of a whale dip back under the water, leaving behind only a froth of foam where her body had been moments before.

I put the book down and began to scan the water between the two piers, which were to the right and the left of my perch, to see if I might be lucky enough to catch another glimpse this majestic mammal.  In the next few minutes I discovered there were others with her, at least six, who were feeding on a school of anchovies, which luckily had decided to make its home for the day just off shore.

I would have imagined this would have been a fleeting spectacle, but it lasted all day long. For several hours that morning and for a few more in the afternoon I sat in the same spot watching the whales feed.  They not only broke the surface to take a breath of fresh air, they would also breach, jumping high into the air before crashing down onto the surface of the sea.  Sometimes, two and three whales would come up together, almost as if they were having a competition to see who could jump the highest.  They were probably engaged in bubble net feeding in which the whales work together to herd the fish into a smaller area and then swim up together through the middle of them with their mouths wide open, catching hundreds of fish in the process. 

I cannot tell you how beautiful and mesmerizing all of this was, or how powerful and yet unhurried they seemed to be.  I was content to simply sit and find joy in each sighting.

I was not the only one.  Eventually, crowds formed at the end of one of the piers and on the road below the patio where I was sitting.  When the whales would breach, a collective gasp of delight would rise from the people below me, or echo across the waters from those standing at the end of the pier. The whales would chase the fish around the bay in such a way that no matter your vantage point, everyone eventually had a front row seat.  The only way you could have had better was to be in one of the kayaks which were gathered underneath one of the piers.

I decided if the whales were in the area the next morning my daughter and I would have to see if we could not get ourselves into one of those kayaks.  They were, we did, and it was spectacular. 

Having had this experience did not keep me from returning later that afternoon to the same spot where I had first seen the whales.  I brought my book, but knew I would probably simply return to a posture of silently watching and waiting for what might appear before me.  While the whales were not nearly as active (at least above the surface) as the day before, they were still present.  It took a little more attentiveness but if you watched you would see the beauty, power and majesty of their presence. 

Not long after I sat down in my spot a husband and wife came and stood next to me.  A whale had just surfaced on the other side of the pier.  You could not see her clearly, but you could hear the strong exhalation of air clearing her blowhole. The wife was excited and pulled out her phone and began to try and get it set up to take a photo.  She told her husband she wanted to show the kids. Who would not want to capture the moment?

While she was fiddling with the camera settings a text came through.  She sat down at the table next to mine, facing me, not the ocean, and began a text conversation with whoever was on the other end of the data signal. 

The husband began to scan the horizon and got distracted by how many people were down at the beach and on the end of the pier.  He began making observations to his wife about these things, but she was blocking him out, typing something on her phone.

Just then two whales breached the surface of the water and slid back under the surface.

They did not see it.

Several minutes passed by and one of the whales came up for air and the husband pointed it out to his wife.  She casually glanced up from her phone, made a comment about it would not have been a good photo, and went back to typing.

The next time the whales breached the surface of the water I thought about drawing it to their attention, because they were once again distracted, but I decided not to.  I thought I would wait to see how long it would take before they put away the distractions, readied the phone for a photo, and simply waited.

Multiple times the whales either broke the surface of the water or breached, but the couple never saw them.  They would often catch a glimpse of the churning water left in the whales wake as it dipped below the surface, but not once did they share in the joy of seeing the complete cycle of the whales emerge from the deep, push towards the heavens and then recede back to where they came from.

I sat there thinking about the tension between how excited these two were to see whales and capture a photo for the kids and the fact they were unwilling or unable to be still and silent long enough to allow themselves to discover the dance which was taking place in front of them. 

 As I thought about this a thought occurred to me. I think when it comes to our desire to see and experience God, many of us find ourselves caught in the same tension as this couple.  We want to see, but we are so distracted that we cannot sit still and watch long enough to be able to allow ourselves to see what He is doing right in front of us.  How much we must miss by being distracted by what is on the periphery or busying ourselves because we cannot stand to wait.

I don’t know about you, but I do not desire to live like this.  I want to have my eyes wide open to see what God is doing.  I want to see it, be awed by it, engage in it and find the same kind of joy I experience while watching those whales. 

To take this posture is to simply see each moment as having the capacity to reveal something about who God is and what he is doing.  It is choosing to live in the present moment, recognizing this moment is the only point in time where we can actually have an experience of God.  It is having the faith that he is at work and if I can discipline myself to lay aside my efforts to make something happen and refuse to engage in the  distractions which take my focus of what I am experiencing in the present, I will see. It is being willing  to trust that God is at work, even if it is under the surface, and to be expectant there will be moments where we will see what He is doing break out above the water line.

It is this expectancy which teaches us to be silent and still, to learn to wait and watch, and to pull away from the distractions and simply be present.  I encourage you to pick a moment today and simply be present in it.  Lay aside the distraction, don’t do anything and simply watch.  Ask the questions: Where do I see God here?  What is he doing?  If you are patient, if you are willing to be silent and still,  I have a feeling you will be able to see.

Because this couple did not see what they had hoped for, they left after a few minutes.  While they left disappointed, I had sat there once again experiencing the wonder of whales dancing in the ocean before me. The only difference between me and them was the posture we chose to take.

Be still know…Psalm 46:10

"He Has Holes In His Hands!"

I don’t know what you do when you are trying to drift off to sleep or find yourself awakened in the middle of the night.  I have found if I am not careful my mind can run to all sorts of places.  It can run backwards and try to relive the past. It can project forward and try to structure the future.  Both movements can lead to worry.  And I have found worry is generally not very helpful in drifting off to sleep or slipping back into a peaceful slumber.

The first chapter in the book of Psalms calls the man who meditates on God’s Word, day and night, blessed.  The author of Psalm 119 declares in verse 148, “My eyes stay open through the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promises.” It may have been written by David, because he echoes the thought in Psalm 63 when he cries out, “On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night.”  This seems to me to be a much better use of the time than reliving the past or worrying about the future, so it is where I endeavor to turn my heart when I find myself awake when I would much rather be sleeping.

A couple of nights ago, I was sleeping in a strange bed, in another state, in the wrong time zone.  Needless to say, I was having trouble drifting off to sleep so I turned my attention to God and what the Scriptures reveal about Him.  After a few minutes I landed on the topic of Heaven and chose to settle there.

To be honest, for as much hope as we put into heaven and for as big as I imagine it to be, the Bible doesn’t say as much as you might expect about the subject.  It does tell us there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, and everything will be made new (Revelation 21:4-8).  It says there will be no more curse, night or need for the sun.  God’s radiance will be enough light for us all (Revelation 22:3-7). No one will ever hunger or thirst (Revelation 7:13-17).  Scripture tells us that Christ will have prepared a place for us and that he will be seated at the right hand of the father (John 14:2-4, Colossians 3:1-7).  There will be angels singing, rivers flowing and one of my favorite things, a tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month (I like trees, Revelation 22:2).

These realities are much better to meditate on than the things I might be tempted to be worried about. Though the images we are given in scripture form a pretty impressive picture, in truth it is but a sketch at best.  

I kind of think of it like a package which has been wrapped and set under the Christmas tree. You can judge its size, weight and the sound it makes when you shake it, but you really cannot give an exact description of what is inside.  You must know, I have a long history of wanting to know what was in the package (that is an entirely different blog). Because I like to figure what is inside and I lay there in the bed thinking about heaven, meditating on the lines scripture has sketched out for us, and just holding these things in my mind to see what God might want to reveal.

As I did, my attention turned from Heaven as the place to the idea of what it would be like to meet Jesus there.  I had to think about it for awhile.  Which Jesus would I meet?  Would it be the Jesus who was seen at the transfiguration, clothed in brilliant white, shining like the sun? (Matthew 17:1)  Would it be the Jesus of Revelation 19 who is mounted on a white horse, His head covered with crowns, clothed with a robe dipped in blood with the words King of Kings and Lord of Lords written upon it?  Would it be Jesus sitting on the throne surrounded by angels singing Holy, Holy, Holy?  I gazed upon each of these images in my imagination and held them there for a moment, but none of them seemed to be the one on which I should fix my heart upon.

I had laid there for a few moments thinking about these things when another image of Jesus came to me.  It was the image of Jesus when he appeared to Thomas (John 20:24-29).  There he stood, compassion on his face, and his arms extended with his palms turned up. When I saw him in my mind all I can remember thinking was, “He has holes in His hands.”   

This shouldn’t have surprised me; I have read the stories of His appearing to the disciples many times. I knew Thomas touched His wounds and believed, so I knew they were there. It is just that when I read the Scriptures speaking of heaven being a place where there is no more pain, no more sorrow, where everything will be made new, I imagined Jesus’ hands having been made whole, perfect, without any scars.

The surprising thought "he had holes in his hands" made me stop and ponder why when all things had been renewed and restored, would he still carry the scars from these wounds?  It also made me wonder if we too would carry with us into eternity any marks from our suffering, and if so why?

I thought about how Jesus was wounded.  I imagined the nail pressed against his skin just before the hammer blow drove it through His flesh.  I imagined Him screaming out in pain as the spike pinned his hand to the cross. I thought about what it would have felt like to have the crossbar slowly lifted up the post, the weight of His body slowly pulling his tissue and bone tight against the iron pins. It was one of the most painful forms of execution and he endured it.  He endured it because He trusted His Father was doing something far greater than the pain he was experiencing.  He trusted to the point of death.

Then I thought about what it must have been like for Him to experience resurrection, to find life where there had been death.  There have been moments in life where I have had to trust, points at which I have had to believe, wait, and see what the outcome would be. In times like this, when the crucial moment passes, and I discover that my trust has not been ill placed, joy rushes in.  I imagine you would have to multiply that feeling by a million or more to capture what Jesus must have felt. The critical moment having passed, the victory over sin and death having been won, He knew full well His trust in the Father had been well placed.  There must have been joy upon joy upon joy!

I thought about how different those holes in His hands must have looked to Jesus then.  Whereas, His wounds had been marks of rejection and evidence of His is adversary’s best effort to kill and destroy, they were now proof that His Father had not abandoned Him. Looking at them, understanding what these wounds had accomplished, Jesus knew His Father was trustworthy, powerful and present.  They were reminders of His Father’s grace, mercy and love, and His willingness to set aside His desire to do the Father’s will.  They told of the lengths to which love will go to rescue, redeem and restore all thing. They were blemishes on His flesh for sure, harsh wounds which spoke of pain and suffering, but they were also beautiful. Jesus was afflicted but not crushed, and because of this fact, the holes in His hands now speak a better word, one of victory, life and freedom. 

I wonder if it will not be the same with the wounds we experience.  While their cause may be horrifically painful and leave permanent marks upon us, if they drive us to turn to the Father in trust, if they enable us to experience His presence and power in ways which are unimaginable with them, if they cause us to know in our deep His mercy, grace and love, might we not find ourselves seeing them as beautiful?  And because they are not simply reminders of the wounding we experienced, but the One we encountered, might we not want to enter into eternity bearing their marks, not to remind us of the pain, but as a testimony to the power of the resurrected life and as an opportunity give glory and honor and praise to the One who heals? 

Meditating on that image, I drifted off to sleep.